


Because the Earth is Shaking

by ordinarily (tofty)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-18
Updated: 2010-07-18
Packaged: 2017-10-15 09:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tofty/pseuds/ordinarily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam/Dean, straightjacket. Can be set during Sam, Interrupted but not required. One of the boys is strapped into a straight jacket and the other takes full advantage of the predicament.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because the Earth is Shaking

**Author's Note:**

> Written for round three of the blindfold kink meme, for the summary prompt.

"Hey, hey, look at me, it's okay. You're my brother, and I still love ya."

Truthfully, Sam loves everything right now. He can barely remember breakfast this morning, but he's pretty sure that he he loved that as much as he's loving everything else right now, everything urgent just faded to insignificance alongside the warm, lazy contentment washing through him. And Dean, there's Dean, right in front of him, and man, he loves Dean best of all, crazy or sane. More than anything ever.

Dean's upset, right now, leaning over Sam, close enough to touch if Sam were actually able to move his arms. Sam knows because his lips are tightened and his eyes are squinty, and Sam loves Dean and so wants Dean to be as amazingly pleased with life, right now, as he is. He wants Dean all slack and loose and smiley, like he feels.

Dean's saying something to him, and it's not smiley at all, Dean's wearing a very serious face. "--focus," he's saying, a hand to the side of Sam's face, leaning in. "We need to get you outta this thing, okay, get you back in the game. Got a monster to kill, dude, remember?"

Sam does remember, remembers the wraith, the silver knife. He remembers Martin's terrified face hovering above him, pulling him by the arm. He remembers his mistake and Dean's too, blood leaking out of Fuller and anger leaking out of himself, he remembers the way he felt as they tightened the straps and gave him the injections. He remembers, of course he does, but it's all feeling amazingly, beautifully distant right now. He smiles at Dean and shifts on the bed.

Dean's gripping his jaw between fingers and thumb, shaking his head back and forth gently, gently. "Hey, Sammy, c'mon. Help me sit you up."

"'M comfortable like this, Dean," he says. Such an effort to sit up, so little payoff, so he doesn't move. Sam's fingers and toes are tingling, they don't feel like they'd quite move right anyway, so what's the point? What's the point in being able to move when he's fine where he is?

"You're not fine." Huh, Sam didn't think he'd been talking out loud. Sam wonders if he's just saying everything out loud. Dean snorts out a quick laugh. "Yeah, Sam, you are. I can even understand most of it. You're stoned as fuck, kid, and we need to get you sobered up, all right?"

"How're we gonna do that? Think we need to wait it out, just, and think if you're in a hurry you'll have to finish without me. Where's Martin? Martin'll help, if you ask nice and don't insult his clown paintings." He considers clown paintings. "Goddamn, that's some scary shit." He giggles quietly to himself.

"Dude, Martin can barely do the research without having a panic attack. We need you."

"I guess, but I'm not killing any wraiths like this." Sam wriggles his tingling fingers and toes happily, not that Dean can see them, not that Sam can see them either, for that matter, but he can feel them, far away from his head, wriggling away, scuffing against rough cotton. "Feeling too good to kill things."

"Yeah, Sam, I definitely got that. Dean stands straight and runs both hands through his hair. "Christ, what am I gonna do with you?" He's looking more upset than ever.

Sam can think of a couple of things he'd like Dean to do, a couple of things that'd make their day better, better for Dean and better even for Sam, if that's possible, and he says so. "Hey, I got an idea. You know what I really think you should do with me, Dean, is ride my dick until I come inside you, that'd be good for me." It really would, too, Sam feels a little more spacey and daydreamy and altogether excellent, just thinking about it.

Dean's practically yelping at him, now, though it takes him a few seconds to realize it. "What? You have got to be kidding me."

"So, so not kidding." Sam is thinking this idea is sounding more awesome with every passing second. "Why are you getting so worked up? It's not like we haven't done this before, like, a lot. Like, maybe not as much as I want, because that'd sort of be impossible, but. You know." Dean just looks at him, eyes bugging, and after a minute he gets why. "Okay, maybe not this exactly, maybe not me drugged all up and lying flat on my back in a straightjacket in a hospital with a monster running loose, maybe you've got a point there, but--"

"Damn straight I got a point!" Dean's glaring at him now, which is the exact opposite of what Sam's working for. It's ridiculous that Dean has to be this stubborn.

"I'm stubborn? Dude." Dean doesn't come right out and say anything about pots and kettles, but he doesn't have to, because Sam may be stoned, but he's not stupid.

"You sure about that, Sam? Because you're not exactly coming across like a mental giant, here, you know?"

Sam laughs. "Well, maybe not, I don't know, I can't really tell right now. I don't really care right now. And know what, you need help on this case, that's what, and if Martin can't help you, then you're gonna have to suck it up and wait for me to shake this off."

Dean glares at him for about two more hours, then finally, finally, his shoulders slump a little. Dean's way too tense. "True enough."

"And if you're not doing something, you know, destruc--constructive-y—"

"Constructive?"

Sam grins over at him. "Whatever, Dean, if you're not somehow keeping busy, you're gonna be crawling out of your skin and doing something reckless and stupid, am I right?" He's right, and Dean knows it, they both do.

"Okay, yeah, that's true too."

"Yeah, I know. So you're standing too far away. You're standing miles away. You should be over here, pulling down my pants and keeping busy."

Dean laughs, looking like he can't quite believe what he's hearing, which Sam totally doesn't understand because what he's saying makes sense. "Dude, this place is fucking crawling with orderlies and doctors and nurses. And anyway, you're not even hard right now."

Sam lifts his head and peers ruefully down at his own crotch. "Yeah," he says, "think it's probably all this stuff I got floating around in me. Dunno if I can perform, exactly, but we can give it a shot, right?"

"Yeah, you're really selling your plan to me, Sam, your plan to fuck when you're too laced to get it up. And I notice you're not dealing with the hospital staff in your pitch."

"Okay, so I'll deal with it now, or at least, I don't think we'll have to, 'cause it's the middle of the night, right? I'm pretty sure it's the middle of the night, because it's dark and it's been dark forever. Is it the middle of the night?"

Dean sighs. "Yeah, Sam, it is."

"So long as we keep quiet, we're golden, I bet you anything that one of us would have to scream before anyone came in to check." He blinks slowly at Dean. "I can do it without screaming, can you?"

Dean stares at him with furrowed brows for about two more hours, feels like, and Sam kind of does want to be untied now, so he can smooth his thumb over the crinkle between Dean's eyes. But he just waits it out, waits until he sees Dean's shoulders slump a little, and then presses in, feeling like he might get this, after all.

"Dean." Concentrating hard to get it right, he tries for the voice he knows gets Dean hottest, zero to sixty in two seconds flat, because it's a thing that gets him what he wants. Low and growly and breathless, he says. "Dean, come here to me."

Dean moves slowly, frown still on his face, and Sam's gonna get that frown off, slowly but he does move and that's a start. "Yeah, that's it," he says, voice still. Coaxing, that's the word he wants. "Good, you're listening, now."

"Yeah, 'cause we've established that I'm kind of crazy and reckless, right?" Dean's words are sour, but his voice, his face, those are sweetening up. The frown's finally dissolving, not completely, but a little. "We do this, we do it quiet, right?"

"Quiet," Sam agrees, barely above a whisper, so low.

"Well, then sit up so I can get you out of this baby." He tweaks the fabric at Sam's middle, catching Sam's forearm in a little pinch, and Sam shivers happily, but doesn't move otherwise.

"Dean," he says. "Dean, can we leave it on? I think I want it on, Dean. I think I want you on top of me, all over me, and I think I want you to come all over me, all over the straightjacket, maybe on my face, is that okay, because that's what I think I want."

Dean takes a really deep breath through his nose, so deep his nostrils pinch together, and when he speaks up, he has to clear his throat before, so Sam thinks he knows what he's going to say before he says it. Dean's tricky, though. He doesn't say anything right away. He steps right up to the bed, and stops. The frown's gone, but his face is serious. "Look, Sam, this really, really is not such a hot idea--"

"It is so, you know it is." Sam knows Dean thinks so, he can see the evidence right in front of him, just above eye level, under his flimsy hospital-y cotton pants and shorts.

Dean's lips tighten. "Well, yeah, okay, it's a _hot_ idea, but really listen to me, okay, it's not a _good_ idea. You're all drugged up, this isn't something you'd--"

"I'm still me, Dean, really. I am, I don't know how to make you believe that, but I think I'm really me, right now there's nothing else here but me."

Sam knows Dean wonders, sometimes, how much is him wanting this, and how much is Sam's fucked-up half-demon chemistry at work, knows Dean worries. Sam wants him not to worry, but sometimes Sam's been worried, too, hasn't known himself, so he can't ever really ease Dean's mind about it, probably never will be able to. He just doesn't know if he'd have wanted this without the blood and everything that came after. And maybe he wouldn't have, but it seems like a pointless question right now. He hooked himself on demon blood, he fucks his brother, two addictions maybe related and maybe not, and so often he's all torn up inside over both of them, so often he's craving one or the other and feeling sick about it, but he's not sick tonight, he's just floating, feeling great, and he wants this but doesn't give a fuck about the blood, and that means something, it has to mean something, and he wants to just have it, enjoy it while he can, before his fucked-up half-demon self with all that anger and shame takes him back over.

It's not until Dean reaches over and pulls at the drawstring on his pants, face softened, that he realizes the brain-to-mouth filter's still not working, but he can't bring himself to be sorry that he's spilled all this stuff to Dean if it gets him this, right now. He concentrates so that he can arch his hips off the bed, and Dean tugs his scratchy hospital pants and boxers down to his knees.

He's still not hard. Still wants Dean's hands all over him. His skin feels hot under Dean's cool fingertips. Dean pulls off his own pants, half-hard and scarred and worried-looking and entirely beautiful and Sam's, and this time, when Sam says, "come here to me," Dean does. Sam tells Dean to straddle his prone body and he does. Tells him to take off his shirt, and he does. Tells Dean to jerk off, and Dean does, sliding against Sam's dick in a motion that Sam feels all over his body as a muffled, humming pressure flowing under his skin like blood in his veins. When he tells Dean to lick his own come off Sam's face, Dean leans forward, flushed and panting. The kiss is all Dean's idea, it feels like his first all day, and like a lot of Dean's ideas, it's slow in coming but it works, Dean tasting like Sam tasting like Dean until Sam can barely tell who's who, and Sam still hasn't moved.

And after Dean sneaks back to his own room, Sam lies awake, and the feeling comes back into his extremities, the euphoria ebbs gradually away. Sam was expecting it, but he curls sharply in on himself anyway, lying on his side, as small as possible on the mattress, holding it in for as long as he can.

Dean will do anything for Sam past a certain point of resistance, no matter how crazy or reckless, and that is in itself crazy, and Sam will push and push for it and take take Dean's eventual compliance for granted, and that's even crazier, they both know that too, but right now, crazy and dangerous in the waking world, it still feels perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from Pylon's "Crazy."


End file.
